To Dream is to be Alive
by SamSpade
Summary: Post 'A New Day in the Old Town'. Olivia leaves the hospital with Peter.


She didn't remember anything. Well mostly bits and pieces but it felt like she couldn't recall a single solid memory for several hours relating back to the accident. She can't help but feel stronger now though. Maybe it's the fact she has her gun between her fingers, she can lock and load it. Turn off the safety and her hands no longer shake. Maybe it's the fact her grip is stronger and her aim is dead on.

With a sigh Olivia puts the gun back under her pillow but not before turning the safety off. She's not an idiot. Her eyes move over the hospital room. She's ready to go home and knows it's not long before he'll be here.

Peter. She knows he'll come. He never disappoints her. Not really. Sure they've had their disagreements and arguments over the past year but there's something about him, she's drawn to him. She can't explain it. She doesn't even bother trying. It'd be pointless. She just knows, there's something special about him.

"Ready to go?" Peter asks, staring at her from the door. She's still in her hospital gown. She looks like hell. The only good thing is in all this, she's alive. He never thought he'd be able to talk to her again-not in a normal sense.

She hears his voice and glances up, unsure how long he's been standing there, watching her. Catching sight of him in the doorway to her room she feels her stomach somersault. She can see what looks to be a sympathetic glance as his eyes move over her fragile form. She's ready to tell him she's fine but there's no point in lying. She's tough but not immune. She won't show anyone that side, not even him.

"Yeah, just let me get changed?" She gestures to the door and he smiles weakly with a nod, shutting it as he steps out. She struggles with the gown, groaning and rolling her eyes with slight frustration at her inability to do such a simple task. She's not used to being waited on and here in the hospital, everyone's done everything for her.

Finally the gown is off and the change of clothes someone brought her are now on. She doesn't recall who stopped by her apartment-who she gave the key to but she senses it was probably Peter. There aren't too many people she trusts and less she considers friends. She remembers a time when he asked if she had a best friend and she confessed she didn't. There was a reason she chose to be alone-in life and in love. It suited her. She didn't have to feel betrayl, hurt, angst when she was alone. She was safe. She knew to an outsider it made no sense but Peter being, well, Peter, she suspected he understood.

She hobbles to the door, opening it once she's fully decent and feels his eyes look her over. He's about to tell her she shouldn't be out of bed but he closes his mouth just as quickly. "The nurse said you signed the release papers already?"

"Yeah, I'm ready to get out of here." Except she's still not quite sure where here is. Honestly she's terrified to get into a car, with or without Peter. She's even more afraid to not tell him what she's beginning to remember. It's not much but she knows she'll sound crazy and he's the only one to believe her. They've seen so much, experienced so much together. He's always been by her side, she felt that wouldn't change anytime soon either.

She chews her bottom lip raw as she walks with him out of the hospital towards a cab. She can feel his warm hand on her lower back and doesn't want to tell him it hurts but it feels good. He feels good. She misses that feeling, a warm body beside her. She's never felt him in that way but suddenly she craves it. Maybe it's the fact she feels like he saved her-in some ways, he has.

"Peter, wait." She hesitates by the curb. It's not because her leg is throbbing and her foot is still swollen. It's not from the pain in her hip or the scars on her back. She's been in a car. She can't explain how she was thrown through the windshield with not any memory of being in the car-when she specifically remembers getting out of it.

"It's okay, I'm going with you." He assures her, wanting her to know he's not going to send her home on her own. He can't do that. He can't trust she'll make it there okay. Too much has happened that can't be explained. He saw the empty car. Then he saw her flying through the windshield. It's a memory he wishes he didn't have but he's grateful she's alive. He doesn't understand it. He doesn't try to-not yet. It doesn't matter. What matters is that she's okay.

She stares at him, hesitantly. She knows it's an irrational fear. Car accidents happen, she can't control every aspect of her life but she has this huge pain in her stomach, this fear constricting in her chest as the cab stops. It wasn't a cab that she nearly died in but it doesn't matter. A car's a car. Any and all vehicles will probably do this for some time.

"Would you rather take the subway?" His voice offers her another suggestion, another way to get home. It's not the easier way. It's several blocks just to the train and then several more walking to her apartment. On an ordinary day it's a long walk. Today he worries about her more though. She can barely hold herself up though she pretends she's fine.

"Yeah," she confesses with the tiniest smile and he feels better instantly seeing the Olivia he knows and loves. "I should just, get over my fear though, right?" She knows she'll have to eventually. She can't do her job and not ride in a car. She could find an excuse not to drive. Her foot was injured, the pains unbearable, she has some form of PTSD. There were a million excuses but it wasn't like her to use them.

"It's okay to be afraid. Hell, I'm afraid," Peter admits hoping knowing the truth will somehow help her through this pain. "Come on, I'll get you home. You'll be more comfortable there."

She nods hesitantly but watches as he opens the back door of the cab for her. She steps in, sliding over as she watches him climb in beside her. It's a small comfort and that's when she feels his hand on hers. She hadn't realized it'd been shaking again, afraid of what was to come. "I'm not going anywhere," he assures her yet again.

Olivia nods weakly, knowing that maybe if he would have been with her in the car-no she can't allow herself to think like that. He could have been dead then. She closes her eyes as she feels the cab pull away. Her foot though painful taps against the floor nervously. It's something she can't stop herself from doing. Just as hard to fight is every stop at a light and every car that changes lanes. She feels herself fearing intersections and she knows though she's not driving and she has no control over other vehicles, she can't help but feel terror.

"I'm right here," she hears his voice but it doesn't register. She feels his hand, one wrapped around hers and the other around her body, keeping her close. He's afraid of losing her, again. He knows the job comes with a price but how he thought she died-a car accident-the unexplained-it sickens him as well. He's holding onto her as hard as she's holding onto him. He's afraid if for an instant she'll be gone. She harbors the same fears. She doesn't know how much times passes, her grip on his hand makes him painfully aware that she is still there. It's an odd comfort and when the cab stops outside of her building he's not sure his fingers will be able to move again. He doesn't want to seem weak and pays the driver, helping her out, his hand moving to her lower back as he regains minimal feeling and movement.

"I've got your keys," he shows her, helping her up the stairs though she's using the handrail. It's not too many flights and they're unlocking the front door of her apartment. He doesn't want to go but doesn't want to invite himself in either. They're still 'just friends' something he hopes one day they can move away from and experience something more together, something more definitive.

"Thanks. I wasn't even thinking how I'd get inside." Her mind still feels in a fog. She knows she's still heavily medicated from the drugs they'd given her at the hospital. "Come in," she tells him without thinking twice. The front doors open and she's hobbling inside. She tries to hide the pain, grimace when she walks as it bothers her. She doesn't want him to see this side of her. She doesn't want anyone to see her weak.

"Let me help you," Peter offers just as quickly, flipping the light on unsure how else to help. She has no bags. The flowers she was given, so many vases, she donated them to the children's ward of the hospital. She insisted there were too many for her to take home and that she'd rather them bring light into someone else's life. Peter hadn't wanted to admit there was a hint of sadness when she'd given his away. He knew she was doing something good for someone else and should have felt proud but he felt insignificant. Did she realize what she meant to him? Did she have any idea how he felt when he thought she was dying. Saying goodbye to her, had been the hardest thing. He wasn't ready to let go but he had no say in the matter. She'd had a living will, Rachel was executing it. He was just the bystander in all of this.

"I'm not sure there's much to do. No bags," she smiles weakly through the pain coming into the kitchen grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Sipping the water her eyes are trained on the counter, glazed over. She doesn't notice Peter walking into the room, staring at her, analyzing her. He's trying to get inside her head, something never easy when it came to Olivia. "I remember things Peter but I'm not sure they are as they are."

He stares at her, listening to her every word. Anyone else would laugh, call her crazy or consider her insane but not him. He's seen so much, he has a higher respect for her. What she says, he believes-in most cases. He gives her credit for bringing him and his father together, again. "What do you remember?" He asks her, listening to what she has to say, trying to piece it together knowing her memory isn't still what it should be.

"I was driving to meet someone," she recalls it was someone important but the name eludes her. "I remember almost hitting someone but I avoided the crash. I'm sure of it." She glances at Peter hoping he believes her and doesn't think it's the trauma that's given her a false memory. It wasn't a dream. It was real.

"Then what happened?" Peter asks, watching her, leaning against the counter as he steps closer. He wants to be there to catch her if she falls-figuratively and literally. She seems quite unsteady on her feet and he watches her lean her weight on the counter for support.

"The specifics are a blur, Peter," she catches his stare, the concern behind his eyes as he watches her. She knows there's things Walter can do to help her remember but she's afraid what they involve. His techniques are anything but traditional. Risking her life for a few memories-she's not sure it's worth it. She's not sure she wants to remember. Though it seems important, was it really? If it had been, wouldn't she have remembered it?

"You've been in a horrible accident," he offers reaching out, pushing a strand of blonde hair away from her eyes. He can see the cut on her face, the stitches will forever leave a mark. In a way he feels he failed her. He should have been there for her, more supportive, known where she was going. They were a team! "It's not uncommon for a brain injury to leave you with a sense of confusion or amnesia." He was grateful she still knew who he was. He wasn't sure how he'd survive if she woke up asking who he was.

"I remember my name, Peter. It's not that." Olivia shakes her head. "It's like whoever did this to me, they wanted me to forget."

Peter nods slowly trying to understand what she's going through. It's not easy on him either, but this isn't about him. It's never been. "They wanted you dead." It's an honest and thought-provoking statement. He's not sure why they were after her. Clearly they wanted answers, they had orders and beyond that he was confused. Most of his job confused him though. Sometimes he just had to move on past the questions or else he'd feel stuck forever. Now seems one of those times.

A frown crosses her face and instantly Peter's hand is on her lower back, "what is it?" He's worried about her.

"It's nothing," she tries to shake it off, surprised he saw the pain etched on her face. Had it been that obvious? She was trying to be strong. "I should sit down." It's what she can give into. Later she'll be able to take a hot bath, let the tears fall when she's alone and feeling confused and frustrated. She can't do that now though, not with Peter here.

"Come on," he offers helping her to the sofa, letting her stretch out. He's seen the stitches, he heard about her injuries. He knows she's fighting back the tears and pain she's probably feeling. Maybe the medication is keeping her relatively calm as well but it's only a matter of time until it wears off. The prescription they gave her is pale in comparison to what she was on in the hospital.

"Thanks," she breathes giving a faint smile as she settles onto the couch. It's a relief to be in her home. The smell of the hospital was nauseating and the constant beep of machines was making it difficult to sleep. Plus she wasn't a fan of being poked and prodded with needles. At least when she was considered brain-dead, she didn't feel anything.

Feeling herself growing more comfortable on the couch she reaches for the remote. She struggles but grabs it on her own, grateful Peter didn't get up to hand it to her. She wants to do things for herself. She wants to be back on her feet, good as new. Except she doesn't feel good as new. "You don't have to stay, Peter," he helped her home. It was more than most guys would do. It was exactly what she expected from him but staying here-it wasn't anticipated.

"I am staying," he answers matter of fact. He's not giving her an excuse to die on him. He knows it's irrational for him to believe he can stay with her forever, to watch and protect over her but right now he needs to see how alive she is to calm himself down. It's for his own selfish reasons he's here as much as for helping her.

"Okay," she wonders for how long but didn't bother asking. If she grew tired later and wanted to nap, she was sure he'd let himself out.

"Rest, Olivia," he watches her eyes droop as she flips aimlessly through the channels. It seems there's nothing on but it's also a Saturday and it's the early afternoon. "I'll let myself out." He doesn't think he'll have the courage to leave. Just watching her sleep would be satisfying to him. To watch her chest rise and fall, to hear the soft murmurs in her sleep, it would reassure him more than anything.

"You wouldn't be able to lock up then," she answers staring at him, knowing it's another small fear of hers. One she hasn't had in forever except now-after the nurse nearly killed her-who wasn't really the nurse, she feels unsure about everything and everyone. The only sane one she can trust is Peter. She's not sure why but if he were different, she'd know. Instantly she would. They were that connected.

"Suppose not." He's not going to argue with logic. There are other ways-her locking up after him but right now he's happy with staying longer. He's happy with knowing she's safe and he's here to look over her. If staying forever was a possibility he'd jump at it.

She rests the remote beside her, shifting onto her side trying to lie as comfortably as possible as she lets her eyes drift shut. She trusts Peter, knows she's safe sleeping with him in the room. It takes only a matter of seconds until she's out. She's exhausted and still healing.

He watches her sleep. He doesn't do it to be stalkerish, he wants to be there for her. Should she have any nightmares, should she wake up not knowing where she's at or worse, should someone come in or her disappear-he needs to be here.

A/N: Thanks for reading and supporting my writing! I've now writing full time and have published a novel _Aberrant_, a Young Adult Romantic Dystopian Adventure. Be sure to check it out at


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